It's Either Us or Them.....

So I have a little problem, and to rectify the problem, someone will die. That someone being a cat. See, when we moved to our little town, who knew that we'd find a cat population that is roughly double the human population.

And you know, I love cats just as much as the next guy, I do. I really do. And heck, my hubby calls me Miss Humane Society. (Is there such a thing??)

Hmm...



Seriously though, I am Miss Humane Society. I am a lover of all creatures great and small. I break for salamanders for pete's sake.

So, I am not a killer of animals.

Unless they poop, pee, puke on or wreck my stuff.

Like when we first moved in, we just so happened to have purchased a house from one those people you see on Animal Planet, you know, the cat horders. Oh, and they just happened to have moved next door. When we moved in and pretty much every week since, I have scrubbed the entire house from floor to ceiling getting rid of an cat residue. Thank you to G-d that we don't have carpeted floors or we'd probably be walking on plywood right now.

So, the cats sit on my porch day and night looking in the windows wondering, "Who in the heck are you people are where are my people?"

But I was fine and dandy with living in a house surrounded by a million and two cats just planning for the day they'll organize a coup, attack and take over.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures
(I'm not falling for it.)

That is, until they started sharpening their claws on the window screens and peeing on absolutely every square inch of the outside of the house.

That's when the war began.

We had a similar situation, oh about five years ago. I was about six months pregnant and living in our brand new house in a subdivision built in the middle of a bean field in Mississippi. Everyone forgot to mention that mice can apparently come into the house through the little holes in between the brick exterior.

Yeah, we missed that part.

The problem began with one tiny little mouse. I went out, bought a nice little humane mouse motel and was prepared to free my little friend into the wild vastness of the field behind our house.

That was exactly how it all went down, until a few days later when I'm pretty sure I saw the exact same mouse scurry across the kitchen floor. I saw him and thought, "What in the heck is that mouse doing back in my kitchen?????????????"

So, I again purchased a wonderful little mouse motel and set him free to enjoy the wonderfulness of the vast outdoors.

All was good, until a few days later when another mouse emerged. And another. And another. By this time I was getting pretty darn angry. So I went out and bought a real mouse trap. I was out for blood this time. I didn't really want to buy a snap trap as Gertie, the dog, would almost for sure get some part of her body snapped in the mouse trap. So I bought some sticky traps.

Of course the inevitable happened and the dog got her back paw stuck on the trap. And by this time the mice were so wonderfully settled into our house that they could be found pretty much scampering across my feet in the kitchen. And by this time, there were so many mouse droppings behind the stove, the washer and dryer, even the entertainment center, that I was performing daily deep cleanings of the entire house, top to bottom, in my pregnant-ness. Not a good situation.

And I was getting really, really, really, really mad. Somebody was going to pay and they were going to pay with blood.

My vengeance came soon enough. The next mouse I found in the sticky trap had only one foot on the trap. And I was not letting this one go.

So in all my pregnant-ness I proceeded out to the field with the mouse, the trap and a hammer in tow. I beat that mouse with the hammer until there was nothing left of it.

I beat every single mouse I found still alive on the sticky trap with a hammer until I found no more. And until the exterminator finally revealed the secret to the weep holes in the brick. That was a nice little tidbit.

So, long story short, I am a lover of all animals. Really, I am. But once pee, poop or any other bodily function becomes involved, I get my hammer.

We are losing the battle with the cats though. Hubby has now resorted to shooting at them until we can find a good trap. The score is currently 142-1 in favor of the cats. The one being the cat my hubby shot in the leg the other day as it proceeded to pee on the porch railing.

Seriously, this is life or death around here. Kaydn Rye and I have had some serious sinus problem since we moved in, and his pediatrician thinks it could be an allergy to the cats. It's either us or them. And Gertie isn't really a whole lot of help. Sure, she'll sit in the sunroom just waiting to bark at the next cat she spots, but by now they all realize she's just a figure head. She's like the Queen of England.



I am the Prime Minister and she's the queen. Which means that I am in charge of national security.




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